


What Comes First

by ToulouseD



Series: Under the Rubble [1]
Category: Bleach
Genre: First Dates, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Ichigo's dealing with his feelings, Ishida's patience is boundless, M/M, Post Winter War, Pre-Fullbringer Arc, Talking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-12
Updated: 2016-05-12
Packaged: 2018-06-08 01:17:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6832981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToulouseD/pseuds/ToulouseD
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ichigo needs to talk to someone, preferably Ishida, since he's the only one who gets how Ichigo's feeling.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Comes First

**Author's Note:**

> This is the prologue to a longer series. First posted on FF.net in 2012.

When the gilded edges of the bright, red maple leaves sailed lazily through the air, the dragonflies swam in the rays from a dying sun; when the wind whispered her secrets into the ears of the last petals, and when the quiet song from the sparrows and the finches reached their ears, they were too far gone to notice.

The gust had gathered a few remnants from the trees into her arms and danced with them, encircling them, pausing the world, begging it to stop turning. Below them the city had hummed, as if in agreement, the light vanishing with a prolonged drawl. 

When they had let go, the moment had stretched out, for what felt like an hour, seemed like a year and in truth only lasted seconds, the world they knew had become a different affair, had become strange and odd in its own way. They stood opposite each other, waited for the other to make a move, waiting for some outside force to break the reverie. Waited for the inevitable moment where the bubble would shatter.

Ishida had moved first. Had taken a step back, turned and, without a word, left Ichigo standing upon the hill where they had shared time in a way they never had with anybody before. He had put his hands in his pockets to savor the warmth left, preserving it, keeping it safe from the world that now seemed a little colder than it had been a few minutes ago.

Ichigo had stood on the hill until the sun had gone completely from the sky, till the seeping orange hues had fled from the dark blue of the night and a certain pair of eyes. He could not say what had made him stay to watch the stars set or the moon’s ascendance; he just watched the city slowly illuminating the area below him. 

His breath came out white, stark in contrast to the sky above him and he smiled a little. The leaves kept trickling down from the trees and in a week’s time the trees would be naked and bare. When he finally started walking, his pace was slow and his steps quiet. 

Ichigo took the longest detour possible to keep himself in his thoughts for as long as possible. His hands had not stopped shaking yet. 

He had had no idea another person could affect him like this. He had no idea he could crave another person like this. And most importantly, he had no idea that that person would be someone like Ishida.

 

One afternoon in May, Ichigo had walked after Ishida with quiet determination and followed him home. No words had been said and he had wondered if Ishida had actually registered his presence. 

So naturally he repeated himself the next day.

And the next day.

And the next.

Until Ishida had turned around one day and asked him.

“What do you want, Kurosaki?” his tone had not invited kindness. It had taken Ichigo by surprise and he had taken a step back. He was not usually one to do so, but something in Ishida’s eyes had told him that he should let it be.

“Well?” Ishida had asked again when he had received no answer. Ichigo had tried to string together an eloquent sentence that could have conveyed his problems, but the words slipped through his fingers like sand and he looked away from the sharpness of Ishida’s eyes.

“Was it like this for you?” 

Ishida had paused, his brow drawing puzzled lines, trying to piece together what Ichigo had just said. He had looked as if the latter had posed an ambiguous conundrum where no answer was true and every one unfair.

“I don’t unde-“

“The emptiness? The hollowness? Like, being struck to the bone, feeling so tired and so lonely? So ...” he searched for the words to elaborate, circling his hands, trying to tell Ishida there was more, “incomplete?”

They looked each other in the eyes then Ishida struck his to the ground and sighed. Ichigo waited to be told off. He had had no idea of how Ishida would react, but this was not how he had thought would unfold. Ishida walked past him and looked at him over his shoulder, silently asking Ichigo to follow. At least this was how Ichigo decoded the look.

They had walked in silence, the city alive around them, but removed in a way that made it feel unreal. People were rushing home from work and school, bumping into each other and not caring. The lights were coming on and those directing traffic were constantly changing, herding the citizens.

Ishida had led him to a coffee-shop on the corner of a quiet street. The bell inside rang as they entered. The café was small, western in style and cozy. It felt more like a living-room than a coffee-shop. The walls were plastered in posters, covering the naked bricks. The tables were all different, no chairs alike. It smelt like coffee and books and pastries, old furniture and dust. Books were decorating the book-cases and the desk itself. 

Cakes and sandwiches were on display in a glass-showcase and the house specialties and daily offers were written on a blackboard above the bar, little doodles in the corner of coffee-cups and flowers. Over the speaker system quiet western-style music, jazz of some sort, was playing.

They found a table and removed their jackets. Ishida had pushed his glasses up his nose and instructed Ichigo to figure out what to order with nothing but pure silence. The bustling of a few customers and the barista was all that was heard and the minutes rolled off into the nothingness off things passed. 

Ishida ordered a cup of regular black coffee and Ichigo followed suit. They stirred their beverages and let the clinking of the spoon remain a soliloquy before letting them gather enough momentum for a refrain.

And then Ishida spoke. He let the words come softer and easier than Ichigo had ever heard before as if everyone of them had the potential power to tear him to pieces and leave him bleeding if spoken harshly. He spoke of the blackness, the bell-like hollowness, of how strangling the feeling of uselessness had been, how he had intentionally sought every reminder he could that he could still be of use and how he avoided every thread of remaining power because he feared the pity and the frowns.

“I don’t regret what I did, I was fully aware of what consequences it would have. But I still think back and I can’t help but thank whatever deity may or may not exist that Ryuuken knew a way to get my powers back. I still felt like I was struck insignificant.”

Ishida had watched the rain gently falling outside and the trails they made down the window. The soft, blue light of the streetlights conflicted with the harsh but warm light inside the café and Ichigo found himself smiling over the duality in front of him, how it somehow fitted with everything he was seeing.

Ichigo watched Ishida take a mouthful of coffee with delicate movements, watched his lips linger a little longer on the porcelain, as caught in his own mind for a few seconds, then returning with a new shine to his eyes, something almost simmering. 

They had looked into each other then, without any of the loudness, any of the pride, any of the hostility they usually projected. Ishida put his cup down and got up. He put on his jacket with almost solemn attitude. 

“I hope that helped,” he said as he left cash for his drink on the table and spun the scarf around his neck and left the café. 

Ichigo had sat there, staring out into the city, his coffee no longer steaming and no longer lukewarm to the touch. His fingertips were playing idly with the hem of his shirt and as the night drew closer, he packed up as well, thoughts still on what Ishida had told him.

And even though Ishida had talked generously, considering how taciturn he usually was, Ichigo’s questions had only been growing in number.

Ichigo had lain in bed that night, listening to the spring shower outside, watching the shadows cascading on his wall and the light reflecting and redirecting itself in the droplets sliding down the glass. The rain came fast and hard, drumming unceremoniously against his window and the sudden flashes of thunder and lightning playing tag outside in the clouds.

He had his hands behind his head, breathing slowly, heavily. He felt simultaneously warm and cold, felt hollow and used. He had found a ledge to stand on, but he did not dare move from it lest he fall into another pitch dark underground of not knowing.

Talking with Ishida had provided footing and somehow he felt as if he had been given an outstretched hand. A loud thunderclap resounded and he got up to stand in front of his window. He watched how the rain was simmering on the rooftops and how a stray cat jumped down from a roof nearby and disappeared into a hole. 

Ichigo let his head fall on the glass and felt the cold seep into his skin, giving him gooseflesh and shivers. It had felt good having something so decisively cold on his forehead. He closed his eyes and listened to the rain outside. He would talk to Ishida again tomorrow.

 

“Ishida?”

He had almost hailed the other when class was over, receiving a look from both Chad and Inoue. Ishida himself kept his eyes down and continued packing his books away. And even though he did not show any signs of having heard Ichigo, the other knew he had.

“Can I talk to you?” he asked when he had made his way over there. First then did Ishida lift his eyes and met Ichigo’s. He nodded once, put on his jacket and slung his messenger bag over his shoulder.

They left the school in silence, keeping their heads pointing straight ahead. Ishida’s fingers played idly with the strap of his bag, Ichigo carried the bag in the handles, holding it over his shoulder, the other hand in his pockets. 

“What do you want to know?” Ishida asked and turned right. They walked into the public garden of Karakura, watching the maple’s crisp green and the willows dusty grey sway in the wind. The air was humid and Ichigo could almost smell another storm coming. The thunder was in the air, creating a nervous tension that only amplified the one already there.

Ishida sat down in a pavilion, putting down his bag and looking out over the lake it opposed. The pines were dipping their needles into the water, creating infinitely small ripples on the surface. Ichigo joined him and dropped his own bag on the ground.

He leant back and took in the fresh wind, not warm, but not cold either that would sweep over the lake. Insects were buzzing through the air, calmly dancing on the surface, as if in tango with the pine. The garden was dominated by greens and blues, quiet hues of grey and a slight hint of purple. Ishida waited him out.

Ichigo could not formulate a response, and shrugged with an air of resignation. “I don’t know, Ishida.”

And Ishida, clever, clever Ishida, had seemed to know this already. He considered him with a quiet sort of look and then averted his eyes to the rustling pines.

“I didn’t like not being able to pride myself of being a Quincy anymore. It had been such a tremendous part of my life it was the one thing that still connected me to my Sen- my Grandfather. And my mother.” 

Ishida’s eyes seemed empty and desolate, not their usual shade of azure, less saturated in color and temperature. For despite having blue eyes that, granted, mostly had a steely quality, Ichigo had found Ishida’s eyes a warm shade. There was a certain ember that burned slowly but scorching almost. If he was honest with himself, he was a little hesitant about getting closer to those eyes lest they might burn him.

“We’re connected by blood, yes, but most memories I have of them are dominated by arrows and crosses. I felt orphaned when my mother passed away. Ryuuken has never taken much interest in me and even without that he detested so much within me, we never talked. He never liked me being a Quincy.”

“Isn’t he a Quincy himself?” Ichigo could not help but ask. He swallowed, knowing his tone had been colored with spite, and surely Ishida would not take to kindly to having his father spoken of in that manner.

Ichigo was surprised when Ishida had given him a shrug and then said, “I suppose so,” as if he too was puzzled by this and had asked himself this question over and over again.

Rain slowly started tapping the roof and tiles, plucking at the leaves, stirring the water. Ichigo leant forward, looking to the sky above them. It was heavy and dark, reminding him of the sky in Hueco Mundo. The deadness of it was not present here. This sky was alive.

“Looks like rain,” Ishida said. Ichigo turned to him fast and looked him dead in the eyes. Ishida’s façade broke and a smile emerged on his face. He ran hand through his ink-black hair, laughing soundlessly. 

Ichigo was stunned. Ishida looked completely different without his usual mask of indifference and careful skepticism. He leant back and relaxed, mirroring Ichigo’s pose. The latter began smiling.

“But I can’t imagine how it is for you. I mean, I was only connected to the diseased,” Ishida paused and a wrinkle formed between his brows, “I suppose you too, technically. The only thing I really lost, besides my powers, was an excuse to be friends with Inoue-san, Sado-kun and you.”

“We’re still friends Ishida.”

“Are we?” he asked with the same solemn mask. He slowly turned his head on Ichigo, letting the blue of his eyes melt into the hues around them. A thunderbolt fell above them, but none of them flinched a centimeter. The silence was only broken by the hissing of the raindrops. Ichigo forced himself to answer what he thought was obvious.

“Of course we are. Why would you think we weren’t?”

Ishida blinked with a deadpan stare and a frozen façade slowly reclaiming his features. He shrugged and Ichigo felt himself wanting to shake the other and shout him a truth or two about their friendship. Sure, they may not be the posterboys for perfect relationships or the epitome of two people getting along, but Ichigo somehow had the feeling that had more to do with similarity than differences. 

He sighed and leant back. He had no idea why, but Ishida seemed to have another supernatural ability besides being able to conjure arrows and other fancy weaponry out of thin air, and that was to drive Ichigo up the wall. And Ishida did not even seem to be trying. He just sat there with his icy posture and his cold demeanor and his complete refusal of people enjoying his company for other reasons than his excellent marksmanship.

Ichigo had to stop himself there. 

Ishida had gotten up and stood near the very edge of the roof, he glasses fogging up. He removed them and put them in his breast pocket and closed his eyes. Ichigo was glad he did. He was not sure he would be able to handle Ishida’s usual intensity without a glass-screen in-between. 

And somehow, this fickle gesture, this miniscule change seemed to bring the world into pinpoint focus. Something in the air seemed crisp and breakable.

Ichigo feared he would get a piece stuck in his eyes when Ishida turned to him with an unreadable expression, with eyes akin to the roaring pacific in a storm, something utterly terrible but at the same time completely soft and mysterious. Some unspoken air lay over them and Ichigo found it hard to breathe. Ishida blinked once, twice, then looked into the rain again and heaved in the smell of everything new.

“I suppose it’s a subjective matter.” 

Ichigo was cast out of the stormy blue and into the quiet greens of the park. It took him a second to realize Ishida had answered his question. 

“You’re impossible.” Ichigo cradled his head in his hands and let his eyes wander upwards. He missed the look of ambiguous enthrallment from Ishida and the quick turn he did when the thunder rolled again. Ichigo closed his eyes and sighed heavily.

“I suppose I always wanted to be able to protect those I cared about. I told you when we fought the Hollows you summoned –“

 

“I still retain complete innocence in summoning a minor legion, Kurosaki,” Ishida interrupted and looked almost berating. He had put his glasses back on and was turned to him, arms crossed.

“I know, I know, Ishida. Aizen cleared your name.” Ichigo cracked open his eyes and looked for Ishida’s reaction. 

The other rolled his eyes and deadpanned, ”Wonderful, a mass-murdering psychopath vouches for me, the joy, the recompense, the truth finally prevails.” 

Ichigo stared at him with the same look as was evident in Ishida’s voice. When the melodramatic séance finally died down, he could not help smile a little half-smile. 

“You’re such a dramaqueen, Ishida. Has anybody ever told you that? The way you talk is just surreal sometimes.” Ichigo shook his head and when he stopped he stopped on Ishida’s eyes. 

The Quincy held the gaze for a beat and then turned away. “I suppose you get a flair for the theatrical when you’re the last of anything.” 

Immense sadness had suddenly gathered in his tone and it dripped heavily from the words spoken. 

“Y’know what they say, Ishida, the best for last, right?” Icihgo tried. He had no idea how to react to Ishida being so uncharacteristically affected. 

Ishida returned his head to Ichigo and looked at him for a long while. Ichigo tried not to squirm under the scrutiny, tried to be that island in the unruly sea but felt the waves eat at him and tear him apart. 

“I’m not sure whether you’re serious or if you’re mocking me,” Ishida finally stated. 

Ichigo could feel his eyes widen. His eyes flicked to the side, “Why wouldn’t I mean it?”

“No one ever seems to.” Ishida sank down in his seat and looked into the roof, watching the drops clinging to the wooden beams as they were being pressed through the tiles by the much too heavy rain. The falling skies created slow, cool gusts of air that pushed their hair and chilled their skin. Ichigo kept his eyes fixed upon Ishida.

“I have a hard time believing that,” he said with carefully placed confidence. 

“Kurotsuchi called me a genius once, but I choose not to take that into account because he’s a fucking lunatic.”

Ichigo could not help but laugh. Ishida looked positively stricken by this development and sat up again. He watched while Ichigo laughed heartily and fully and shook his head with a weary smile.

“It’s not that funny.” 

A flicker of light in the distance caught Ishida’s attention. A lightning bolt reached with long, crooked fingers for the earth and caressed it shortly before disappearing and leaving only the hollow roar where the white light had been before. Ichigo had calmed himself and looked down with a smile playing at the mouth.

 

Somewhere along the way, and if later asked, Ichigo would have no answer for this, he found himself thinking more and more about himself and his actions in Ishida’s company. Self-awareness that he had not been in possession of before was slowly overtaking his every move. He concerned himself thoroughly with how Ishida’s perception of him would change if he were to say or do something.

Ichigo found himself imprisoned. And considering Ishida frequented in most of his social-life, being in the same class as him, having the same friends, he found himself constricted in relation to his other friends as well. He would not brush off Mizuiro as readily as before, he would not talk as loudly as he once would and he would not, as playful as it might be, punch Keigo to make him shut up. 

So Ichigo tried as quietly as possible to remove himself from Ishida’s life until this phase had passed. Because he didn’t think it was anything but a phase, something he simply had to go through because he may or may not have started having high regards of Ishida’s opinion. About him. Especially him.

Slowly, with a surgeon’s precision, he slipped out of the routine of following Ishida home and back into the habit of eating lunch on the roof with his friends, far away from prying blue eyes that never looked in his direction anyways.

It was not like Ishida would actually notice anyways, he reasoned. 

The sun had become a more frequent visitor in the cerulean skies and the white cloud canyons seemed to have forgotten the menacing grays they usually carried. Under these changing skies, Ichigo still found himself wondering what Ishida was doing and what he was thinking; if he had noticed Ichigo’s withdrawal from his life at all. 

After having spent an amount of afternoons with Ishida that lingered near the positive side of thirty, it maybe would not be so weird if Ishida at least noticed he was not stalking him home every day. 

Ichigo was lying in a field, one sunny day in June, dragonflies hovering above him, the blades quivering in the wind, the sun blanketing the earth. It had been the last day of school the day before. The cicadas around him reminded him of the public garden, the last day he and Ishida had actually had their afternoon therapeutic session. 

Ichigo chewed on a straw while watching the clouds sail past above him, dragging along lazily on the warm breeze.

They had talked about his Hollow. And how Ichigo still thought himself weak for not stopping it before it stabbed Ishida through the gut.

Ishida had shaken his head twice and looked away. His face had been clean, no stray emotions besides that, by now, strange ever-present shade of caution. The conversation had died then, Ishida not even mentally present after that, as if some new train of thought had asked him aboard and he had left without caring for whomever he left behind. 

And Ichigo had stayed there, waiting him out. When Ishida finally returned Ichigo had apologized again. Ishida had looked him straight in the eye and said, “The sword wasn’t what hurt the most.”

Ichigo had not known how to react to that statement. They had sat for another long while until Ichigo made excuses to leave. He had swallowed once and gotten up, leaving Ishida’s intense blue miasma behind. But even if he had turned his back to it, he still felt the freezing prickle of the needle-stare.

He was lying in the grass, listening to the city’s hum and heartbeat when a shadow fell over his face. He opened his eyes and found Chad standing above him, looming and menacing, words Ichigo would never assign to Chad in any other situation. 

Ichigo sat up and invited Chad to join him wordlessly. Ichigo appreciated Chad’s friendship more than he would ever let on, but he knew the other knew. Chad had been a solid force in Ichigo’s life for almost 4 years now and he did not appear to be going anywhere. Out of all his friends, Chad was the one he most readily would entrust the safety of his family, his friends, everybody. 

And yet he’d never felt the same pressure from Chad as he did now from Ishida.

“Ichigo?” Chad asked and got Ichigo’s immediate attention, “Is everything alright?”

Ichigo sighed and laid back down. Chad did not interrupt Ichigo’s thoughts. The insects shone golden in the air and the quiet buzz of their wings and the cry of the cicadas gave way for an unbroken string of thoughts.

“I don’t know, man,” Ichigo finally said. Chad looked at him, waiting for an elaboration. 

“I don’t know. I feel like Ishida’s doing some sort of weird-ass mind shit to me again.”

“Again?” Chad asked with a half-hidden frown and lay back down next to his friend. 

“He did the same shit when we met the first time, being all cryptic and weird!”

Ichigo stared at the blue sky and felt the sun weighing down on him and exerting a strange sort of comfort to him and he sighed. “I talked to Ishida about losing my powers.”

Chad gave no response, simply watched the ivory canyons above them expand and diminish, stretching and shrinking. He seemed serene on this summer day, the season almost greeting him with a fondness only found when revisiting old relatives. The sun loved Chad, and Chad loved the sun in return. He always had this easy warmth to him and now that warmth seemed to have evaporated out into Karakura itself. 

Ichigo had often found himself drawing strength from Chad’s seemingly unlimited supply to get him through. More often than not, it seemed Chad was the one protecting him and not Ichigo saving his life over and over. Not that that would be relevant anymore, he thought to himself with a subtle tone of regret. He waited for Chad to say something, but nothing came.

Ichigo sat up and looked down at him, expecting what he was not sure of himself. “So?”

“So what?” was the only reply Chad offered.

“Do you think it was the right thing to do? Talking to him?”

“I think it was the only thing to do. Ishida was your only option. Why? Didn’t he help?” Chad stayed down, but his dark-brown eyes found Ichigo. The other drew his knees to himself and put his hand to the ground, feeling the grass tickling his palm. The other remained in the air, gesturing weakly.

The gesture was cut short and Ichigo abandoned all pretense of gesticulation and let it fall, “He did. He did.”

“Then what’s the problem?” Chad knew because Chad always knew. Ichigo had stopped questioning him and his unnerving ability to read him and everybody in the perimeter. Ichigo wondered if Chad could read Ishida, because Ichigo sure as hell could not. He sighed and leaned back, caught by the green below. 

The rays of the afternoon was following the birds above them while they dove and rose, snapping mosquitoes and cicadas, locusts and unlit fireflies from mid-air. The creaking from the insects continued to hum even through this silent massacre.

“Lately I’ve . . . I don’t know how to phrase this without sounding stupid.” Ichigo fell back and let his eyes wander the skies above him. Chad waited him out, told Ichigo through his wordlessness that whatever he said, Chad would not be the one to judge him.

“I don’t like being under constant evaluation and right now it feels like that whenever Ishida’s around. Like it doesn’t matter what I do, he’ll disapprove. So I’ve started avoiding him.” Ichigo could barely say the last part. It’s so far from how he usually did things. 

With a deep breath he closed his eyes. 

Chad’s voice found him anyways “That’s very unlike you.” 

“I know.”

 

They decided to call Keigo and Mizuiro for a round of soccer. Inoue and Tatsuki joined them later on, Tatsuki on the field and Inoue as a spectator. Karin invited herself into the game and onto her brother’s team. And even with Keigo on board, they managed to play a decent game.

The sun was slowly falling out of the sky and into the night, giving rise to the moon and the stars along with it. The orange-golden glow that swept the planes they were playing on gave an intense glow to Inoue and Ichigo’s hair, accentuating the color already there. 

And in all the embers, a lone white figure emerged. Ichigo stopped and watched as Ishida approached the field. He was wearing light-blue jeans rolled up to just below the knee, a dark-striped t-shirt with a wide neck showing his collarbone as if it was a medallion. He walked with quiet confidence and the bottle of water in his hands caught the light much like Ishida himself had caught Ichigo’s attention. 

Karin called his name and took Ichigo out of his musings and back into offense. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ishida stopping and chatting with Inoue, eventually sitting down. 

Ichigo swallowed and kicked the ball harder than what was necessary, forcing Keigo to duck lest he wanted a nosebleed. Tatsuki, however, was completely unfazed, simply kicked the ball back in the direction of their goal. Chad ran up to Ichigo and patted his shoulder.

Ichigo knew what it meant. It was not as if Chad told him to ignore Ishida, nor that he should not keep playing, more that he did not need to let Ishida affect him. 

And he felt horrible, because Ishida was not really at fault in this.

“Ishida!” Tatsuki hailed the archer’s attention while holding the ball, “You play?”

“Preferably not,” was the measured reply. 

Tatsuki shrugged and passed the ball to Mizuiro who was foolish enough to try challenging Karin. Ichigo suddenly found himself fixed by a pointed stare, but only for a second. Then Ishida stood and left the court. 

An hour after the Ishida’s departure and the sun had sunk from the sky, when they were all drenched in sweat and gasping for breath; they picked up the ball and left the court. They walked through a quietly bustling town, the wind breathing life into Karakura, trying to resuscitate it from the heat of the day. 

They decided to go to a café nearby for a drink and a rest. The watch on the wall let them know it was 10 o’clock in the evening. However, the summer vacation had begun and few concerns were made in regards to this.

When they all had fitted themselves around a table and ordered a cold drink and a sandwich, conversation sprung up. They spoke about the near future, the distant future, things of the past, things of the present. Ichigo found himself relaxing and enjoying watching his friends talk animatedly and with so much fervor.

Even Keigo kept a tolerable level of energy throughout dinner, while he ate his meatball sandwich with unmatched hunger. Mizuiro could not finish his chicken melt and gave the rest of it to the former. Tatsuki had a salad and shared it with Inoue when she was done rearranging the different ingredients people had removed from their sandwiches into her own, to create one of those dinners no one but her would enjoy.

Karin and Ichigo shared a plate of french-fries and had a four-meat sub for Karin and a spicy-chicken and cheddar for Ichigo. Chad had ordered a bag of chips and when his veggie sandwich came, he put the chips inside. 

There was an easy air to the meal. The tension that normally stalked Ichigo had disappeared and left a teenager with a bruised attitude but no other problems than that. The constant worry of when or where the next wave of attacks were going to happen had completely evaporated along with Ichigo’s powers. The mood was calm and warm, Ichigo smiling more than usual, him doing no more than rolling his eyes at Keigo’s antics and Mizuiro’s sly comments. 

And maybe that was why only Karin saw the strangeness in her brother’s gestures, the weird air around his smile and the strained paces he moved with. 

Tatsuki stretched after finishing her drink and ran a hand through her black hair. “What’s up with Ishida, though? I thought you guys were on amicable terms.”

Ichigo did not call her out for not saying friends. Ishida himself had expressed the same sort of sentiment less than two months ago. He felt Chad looking at him.

“I would’ve thought going with you guys to fight the baddies would’ve dislodged the stick he’s got shoved up his ass,” Keigo said and leant back. His tone was completely serious. He shared a short glance with Mizuiro who nodded, “I agree with Keigo, though maybe not with those exact terms.”

Inoue looked around, but then cast her eyes down, “Ishida-kun has a lot on his mind right now.” 

She fidgeted with a lock of her hair and drew her legs up on the chair. Chad looked at her sympathetically, once again apt in the reading of his close friends. Ichigo admired his emotional intelligence. 

Everybody was waiting for Inoue to elaborate on her statement.

“What Inoue is saying is that Ishida’s stressed from being the sole protector of Karakura, president of the student council and maintaining his ranking,” Chad clarified when Inoue had reddened with the increased attention. Ichigo leant forward and looked imploringly at the two. 

“He still don’t have to be an asshole about it,” Keigo sighed and put his hands behind his head. He rocked back on the chair, having it balance on two legs. Mizuiro rested his head on his hand and smiled at Keigo’s display of gravity-manipulation. 

“His way of talking doesn’t match who he is. Ishida-kun is . . . Ishida-kun is very kind.”

Mizuiro pointed his fork at Inoue and said, “To you, I’m sure.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Tatsuki demanded, seemingly reacting on Inoue’s behalf. The other sat there, quietly, looking stricken as if the very idea was preposterous.

Mizuiro shrugged, “Inoue is very attractive.”

Inoue stood suddenly and looked at Mizuiro with eyes the color of a thunderstorm, flashes of lightning zipping through the gray and giving them a savage glow. 

“Ishida-kun did not let himself get stabbed because he likes me!” Inoue all but yelled the last part. “To you he may appear arrogant and rude, but that’s not how he is at all!”

Tatsuki put her hand on Inoue’s arm and gently led her back down. 

Inoue stared resolutely at the floor and kept her hands in her lap. Mizuiro looked at her carefully.

They sat in silence for a few minutes before Keigo started talking about the new soccer-season and how they should all join the team. Ichigo listened for half a while, his mind constantly returning to the enigma of Ishida that got more and more pronounced the more he thought about it. 

Keigo threw a piece of cucumber at him and missed direly, but caught Ichigo’s attention none the less.

“How about it, Ichigo? Should we turn to soccer professionally?”

Ichigo smiled a half-smile and shrugged, “Why not?”

 

Ichigo was lying on his back, staring up into the ceiling, through the ceiling, into the bloody sky. Even if he closed his eyes he could still see the golden tangerine of the dying afternoon and the fallen sun. The pillow was cool and his arms prickled as the contrast between his skin and the cotton.

He had been lying like this for no more than two minutes and he was already itching to get up again, restlessness dancing along his veins.

Since being out with his friends, he had run into Ishida exactly once. 

Ichigo had been playing a mock game of soccer with Chad, Keigo and Mizuiro. It had helped him not thinking too much about how his life was steadily becoming what it had been before Rukia had stabbed him. He missed her. The hole in his chest, the feeling of being incomplete, much of that was due to missing Rukia. And neglecting to both think and talk about it, was the best he could do for now.

Afterwards, Keigo had been dying of thirst and hadn't been foresighted enough to bring a bottle of water. They had walked a little mindlessly, laughing and joking about Keigo’s lack of preparation and ended up in a 7eleven wearing smiles and sweat drops.

The others had quickly gone to the refrigerators and looked through the vast selection of juices and sodas, mineral water and iced coffees.

Ichigo hadn't expected to see Ishida in there. And he especially hadn't expected him to be wearing shorts. Something about that has Ichigo doing a double-take and look Ishida up and down. And something was different. Except it wasn’t. 

Ishida looked relaxed, at ease. Still poised, still upright and unbending, but so comfortable in his own skin that Ichigo almost felt envious. Especially because he remembered that feeling and was not quite through licking his wounds.

“Ishida?” he had called out, only to see him turn slowly as if he too felt the world implode into that moment, coming into a tense pin-point focus. He had a popsicle to his forehead and a bottle of ice-tea in his hand. 

Even though he was wearing these semi-square sunglasses that hid his eyes, Ichigo could practically feel his bluest of blue pierce through his head. Ishida might as well have stabbed him right in the heart. Ichigo swallowed and clenched his hands, unclenching them again. 

“Kurosaki,” he greeted him and kept his distance. Ichigo opened his mouth, trying to strike up something of a conversation. 

“How’s life?” Ichigo ended with. He didn’t expect anything beyond the standard answer, the superficial and polite affirmation that nothing was wrong.

“What's that supposed to mean?” Ishida didn’t remove his shades, nor did he change his stance. 

“I don’t know. I just thought I should say something,” Ichigo smiled and saw something shift in the boy opposite him. And it was the boy in Ishida, not the severe adult he was slowly becoming, that moved closer to him, even though Ishida never lifted his feet.

“I’m fine. Exhausted by the heat like everybody else, out of ice tea and busy catching up.”

Ichigo smiled and chuckled once. He scratched his neck and looked down to the checkered floor, feeling much like chess piece himself, “Good.”

“And you?” Ishida asked. Ichigo’s eyes flicked up again, then to the coolers where Keigo and Mizuiro had started arguing over the different merits of ice tea versus iced coffee. When he’s eyes returned to Ishida, he had opened the popsicle and pushed his shades up into his hair.

“I, uhm,” he tried, failing horribly with words as Ishida started melting the ice cream with his lips and tongue. Something about the way he ran his tongue over the frost that still clung to the lemonade was enough to make him pause for a single second before he regained his momentum.

“I’m fine too. Joining the soccer-team after the break, applying for a job and trying to get the grades for a decent college, y’know. Keeping busy.”

Ishida considered him for a long time, long enough for a sticky drop of ice cream to run in an angry green brook down his hand. Ichigo chose not to break the silence Ishida had constructed. When the other finally licked the drop of his fingers, it seemed once more as if time sagged and limped. 

“Don’t wear yourself out,” he finally said and sucked on the bottom of the popsicle to prevent more drops from running along his bony hand. He looked to his right wrist and at a slim watch that chained and confined it, “I have to go.”

As he went past Ichigo their arms brushed and Ichigo felt the in the back of his neck hair rise and reach. 

“Have a good evening,” Ishida added and the door swished open and closed before Ichigo even got to turn around. 

“So what’re ya getting, Ichigo?” Keigo asked and held out two different bottles. Ichigo suddenly had an urge for ice tea.

The light flicked on outside, dispersing the night and the shadows, attracting the insects that usually flew around water and the grass. Little specks next to the mercury streetlamps, little freckles of illumination that sought what little comfort the light could provide. 

Ichigo got up and closed his window.

He had not spoken to Ishida since. He had wanted to, but he had not gone to the pavilion or actively sought him out, but running into him at 7eleven had left him feeling a little lonelier than usual.

And it was not because Chad or Inoue or any of his other friends did not spend time with him, but sorely because he felt like he could be selfish around Ishida and not having to keep up the façade of being fine, he did not have to lie. 

Chad knew though. Ichigo had never been able to hide anything from him. Inoue was also aware of the psychological toll the Winter War had had on Ichigo, but somehow it was only Ishida he felt like talking to. 

He laid back down and looked again to the ceiling.

He would have to seek out Ishida again.

 

Ichigo was not usually one for thoughtfulness and generally did not think his plans through. This had almost become a permanent trait by now. 

This was also why he surprised himself with waiting to approach Ishida, who was reading in the shade of the pavilion. The air was warm and the wind completely quiet. The leaves hung dead, the grass slumped and the crackle from electricity and buzzing from the insects were almost all to hear. 

Ichigo stood in the shade of an old elm and watched Ishida take a sip of ice tea and then turn the page. He was wearing sunglasses again today. His hair was pushed back behind his ears to avoid them falling in front of his eyes and obscuring the text. The calm that had rested around him yesterday was unchanged and after 20 minutes of staring intently, Ichigo stepped onto the path and walked towards Ishida.

Ishida did not move at all. He kept reading the rather worn copy of Tom Sawyer and chewed on his bottom lip. Ichigo sat down next to him.

None of them spoke. Ichigo was not even sure if Ishida had noticed him and that made his back crawl and twitch. Somewhere along the line, he should have realized it would go from constant fear of judgment to constant need for validation. 

The clouds wandered the blue with unconcerned steps, barely giving shade, barely even there. Only wisps of white on the velvet dome above. Ichigo looked over the quiet park, watching the other that had migrated here on this warm summer day.

People lay on the grass, waiting for the sun to find their pale skin and darken their pallor. Some sat by the lake, feet in the cool water. There seemed to be a general consensus about not stirring the air, the earth or the water.

“Was there something you wanted?” 

Ichigo snapped his head back to Ishida, who had removed his sunglasses and looked straight at him. 

“I wanted to talk to you,”he answered in kind. Brusque, not much finesse. Something about Ishida scared him, something about him worried him and something made him absolutely entranced.

“And so I’m just supposed to be at your disposal?” Ishida closed the book and crossed his legs. He was wearing shorts again today.

“I, uh . . .” 

“I’m not some thing you can just use or abuse whenever you want, Kurosaki.”

“I know that.”

“Oh, you do? I could’ve sworn you spent the better part of a month avoiding me. And while I get that you don’t want my company, I don’t get why you suddenly want me to partake in unimportant small-talk.” His voice was calm, but the undercurrent of steel and broken glass almost cut up Ichigo’s reply.

There was something in Ishida’s voice that commanded full attention but at the same time sounded completely exhausted. He looked confused and angry. He looked like a wounded deer facing the end of a barrel. And somehow, the vulnerability that Ichigo suddenly saw in the one opposite him, made his heart stutter and clench its teeth. 

“I don’t know,” Ichigo said, strands of frustration in his voice, braiding itself into his words and letting something inside him go. He could practically feel the words tumbling from his tongue but was interrupted before he got the cascade erupted. 

“Well, then I don’t really know how to interpret these last five weeks, Kurosaki,” Ishida sighed.

“I’m trying to tell you why, Ishida, but you keep interrupting.”

Ishida went still and stared at him. He turned his head away and Ichigo could see him working his jaw. Something threatened to overwhelm him, that was obvious, but he didn’t know what could make Ishida lose his footing like that.

He took this momentary imbalance and used the momentum. 

“I avoided you because you started freaking me out.” It was rushed out and Ishida turned his head towards him, almost like he expected another sword to pierce him. He looked stricken, caught at the wrong side of the prison bars. Ichigo swallowed and cleared his throat.

“Except you didn’t really do anything. I don’t know, but suddenly it was uncomfortable being around you. And I think it was because you knew so much about how I felt that I was afraid that you would start judging me and then find me as worthless as I think I might be.”

Ishida’s eyes went from sharp to dull, the knives he usually had prepared for this sort of happenstance went rusty and slow. 

“I’ve never thought you were worthless.”

And then Ichigo felt the dam break.

“It just feels like I’ve served my purpose. I defeated Aizen, and yeah, the price was high, but everyone’s safe now. But I feel used. And it makes me so angry and so frustrated. It’s overwhelming me in a way I never thought it could and then I feel like an idiot for not seeing this coming.

“It’s like I was a tool and now that I no longer have a function, I’ve been tossed aside. And I hate it. I’ve always tried to preserve myself and to be unashamed of who I was, but now I find myself doubting whether or not I made the right choice. Then you come along.

“And I know you’ve always regarded our friendship as a freakshow, but suddenly you’re being all understanding and nice and it screws me over and I don’t know how to deal with someone looking down on me, especially one who doesn’t but by all means should. Ishida, I stabbed you, for fuck’s sake. And I’m sorry for that, but you don’t seem to care about that at all.

“In fact, you only seem to care about how I’m doing. I fucking impaled you and you’re prissy about me not talking to you. I don’t know what’s going on because I don’t know why this is happening.”

He looked directly into Ishida’s eyes, not letting the other look away. Ishida looked troubled, looked wounded and that was everything that Ichigo did not want to see on his brow. He wanted to see the radiance Ishida’s eyes could emit when he was reading a clever passage or when he had said something that had made Ichigo smile.

He wanted to see Ishida smile himself because that was still such a rare occurrence that he almost felt like taking a picture every time it happened. He did not want to see the corners of Ishida’s mouth slump and his frowns deepen. 

Somehow, Ishida had become something akin to color for the colorblind for Ichigo.

And he wanted to kiss him for that.

“Hey Ichigo!”

They were interrupted by Keigo and Mizuiro making their way over to them. 

It was a severe issue whenever he was with Ishida that he tended to forget they were not alone on the planet. 

The two others came closer and Ishida sighed and put his sunglasses back on, shutting himself away again, it seemed. Ichigo forced himself to look away and focus on Keigo and Mizuiro.

“Long time no see, Ishida,” Mizuiro said, smiling and flipping his hair back. The two of them stood fairly close, Mizuiro’s usually ever-present cellphone in his pocket. Ichigo looked between them.

“Same to you,” Ishida replied, no malice hinted or given in his tone.

Keigo looked to Ichigo and smiled broadly, “Guess who beat the claw-machine a few minutes ago!”

Sometimes Ichigo could not help but smile at Keigo’s enthusiasm, even if the timing was poor. His smile was crooked enough that it encouraged Keigo to venture into the story with great dramatic displays. Ishida listened as well, a few smiles playing at his lip. When Keigo ended the story with a grand finale and had a dry comment from Mizuiro to dampen the extravaganza, Ichigo chuckled and found Ishida shaking his head with a small lift at the corners of his mouth.

Mizuiro sat down and Keigo followed slowly, apparently rather intrigued by Ishida’s limited disinterest. Mizuiro’s phone went off and he dug it out of his pocket, flipping is open and read the message.

“And that would be another 100 Yen, thank you very much,” Keigo said slyly. Mizuiro sighed heavily and found his wallet. Ichigo laughed at that. Strangely, being around both his friends and Ishida was something he had not thought he would enjoy more than he enjoyed eating jellied eel. And he did not enjoy that.

They spend an hour in the shade of the pavilion, Keigo and Mizuiro talking and entertaining, Ichigo cutting them down with fond yet precise remarks and Ishida remaining mostly quiet and politely interested.

But suddenly his head turned sharply, he stood and ran away, his silver bracelet catching the high sun as he fled. Ichigo almost felt a slight stab of envy. Fighting Hollows had been fun, fighting alongside his friends had been fantastic and the feeling of having protected so incredibly many people was extraordinary.

“Hollow?” Mizuiro asked.

“Probably,” Ichigo had answered in kind, following Ishida with his eyes.

“Miss it?” 

Ichigo looked to Keigo. He was completely serious, leant back into the bench with both arms stretched out onto the backrest. Mizuiro leant back as well, Keigo’s arm almost around his shoulder. Ichigo nodded, the hesitation only slight. 

“Yeah. Good thing Four-Eyes’ on the job.”

“I suppose it is.”

 

Ichigo had only fully realized the exact general direction of his thoughts when he returned home from the park. He had stayed there for approximately half an hour after Ishida’s departure until Mizuiro had discovered the time and practically dragged Keigo away.

He had walked a long detour, trying not to waste the sunlight that was still lingering in the sky. It was with a disquiet mind he wandered the streets, trying to rearrange his thoughts. But every time he felt he had done a little bit of progress he found himself back to wondering about Ishida and if he was unharmed.

Ichigo knew it was unreasonable.

Ishida was more than capable of taking care of himself, more than Ichigo, but not much could be more helpless than Ichigo at this point. 

This must have been how Rukia felt about herself when she had first stabbed Ichigo with her Soul Slayer. He sighed and almost felt his feet drag over the ground.

He missed her so incredibly much. She had become like a sister to him and more than that. He had experienced something incredibly fierce with her, something he had not felt with anyone before. It was almost biting like the ice with which she danced and as piercing as the blade she swung. He had owed her so much and she had continued to empower him through her mere presence. 

She had probably become something along the lines of his best friend. 

Ichigo smiled while he walked through the door. It turned downwards almost as quickly as it had appeared.

“Ichigo? What’s wrong, son?” his father had asked him. Ichigo still had not gotten used to these moments between them. These moments where his dad acted like he did not need to put up a smile to persuade his children that everything was fine and no harm would ever come to them. Where the façade of incompetence, was the best word Ichigo had for it, vanished and was then replaced with such sincerity and such worry that he almost could not recognize his own father.

“It’s nothing,” he said and toed off his shoes. It was strange being able to answer the question without worrying about whether or not he would ask about something that would require Ichigo lying to him. Or, lying about his Disney-esqe double-life, at least.

Ichigo did not like lying to anyone, not those close to him particularly. He had always appreciated the hard and filthy truth over a pure and simple lie. 

And out of respect for his dad, he therefore corrected his answer.

“I was thinking about Rukia.” 

His dad only nodded. He did not demand further explanations and left the issue at that. Sometimes Ichigo could not help being grateful for having a dad who knew when to interrogate and bully him.

“Dinner will be on the table in a few minutes. You haven’t eaten, have you?” 

Ichigo shook his head and smiled the by-now trademark empty smile he used when he did not want to worry his friends or family.

He reached his room and pulled his t-shirt over his head. He caught his own reflection in the window and stood for a moment staring at it. 

There was no scars carved into his body, no calluses on his hands, no echoes of battles fought in tears, sweat and blood. It was like it had not happened in the first place. And Ichigo felt disgusted with himself.

Because he missed holding Zangetsu in his hands, he missed the thrill that raced down his spine the seconds before the first blow landed. He missed the sense of camaraderie that had rested over their little squad from Karakura, he missed the serenades the steel would sing when they clashed. He missed the feeling like he was a part of something greater. And he missed his friends.

He missed them to distraction.

And he also missed the feeling of victory. Standing over your opponent, knowing the better, the faster, the stronger prevailed. He missed helping shoulder the burden of the world. 

He missed the way people would look to him for support, for protection, for help. He missed the way people would count on him. He missed the way he counted on them. 

Ichigo missed fighting alongside his friends, if anything to make sure they were not hurt.

He would take a slash for them any day, rather than have them spill their own blood without reason.

And Ichigo missed the way Ishida would look to him, challenging him to be better, to be faster, to be stronger than him. And how Ishida would call his name when Ichigo was falling through the sky and when he was dizzy from losing too much blood. 

Ichigo pulled another t-shirt over his head.

The streetlights outside had been lit and the light Ichigo had neglected to turn on in his own room was replaced with the rays of silvery suns that now pushed through his curtains. He drew them back and opened the window. A breeze kissed his forehead and he closed his eyes.

While the wind cooled him, he breathed in slowly, exhaled slowly.

He still felt like kissing Ishida.

It was strange how overpowering the feeling was. 

Ichigo sighed and opened his eyes again. He watched the sleepy neighborhood, worn out by the sun, now resting in the night. 

There was a knock on the door and Yuzu peered in, “Dinner’s ready.”

“Sorry, Yuzu,” he said and saw his sister watch him cautiously, “I’m not all that hungry right now.”

She only nodded, slowly and with a chip of worry between her brows, and he went back to looking out the window.

He wondered why she even bothered asking by now. 

He had not eaten dinner in a week.

 

Ichigo had no idea what let him to calling Inoue and asking where Ishida lived. The steps from the pizzaplace where he bought a regular vegetarian and all-meats pizza to Ishida’s doorstep was honestly quite hazy and the three knocks he put on the door was not at all something he remembered doing.

Ishida opened the door all the way, looking slightly puzzled, hands clutching the door and the frame. 

Ichigo’s mouth went rather dry. Ishida’s hair was still damp, a ruffled quality to his usually anally straight locks. He was wearing a grey t-shirt featuring a monkey with a banana and dark-blue jeans, folded up to his knee. 

“Hello,” Ichigo said, eloquent as always. Ishida lifted a brow and blinked once.

“Hello?” he answered in kind. “Kurosaki, what are you–“ 

“Do you wanna have pizza with me?” the words flew out, sounding far more at ease than he felt. Ishida looked taken aback for a few seconds – then he closed the door.

Ichigo was not quite sure if this had been a polite refusal or a downright fuck-off. He stood rooted in place while he tried figuring out how well this plan of seduction was going.

Honestly, it was not as much seduction at this point. Ichigo had not thought this whole dinner-thing through. He probably would not have agreed to eating dinner with Ishida if he had just showed up on his doorstep out of nowhere 8 o’clock on a Thursday evening. Except he totally would have. 

Ichigo had come to the conclusion yesterday that he was rather interested in Ishida in a way that was a little left of being purely friends. 

He shuffled his feet, not quite knowing what to do with himself now. He did not feel like eating the pizzas himself and throwing them out seemed like a waste. And standing here only deepened the hole his embarrassment was digging out for him. 

“Shit,” he mumbled. He was most likely not having purely platonic motives in regards to Ishida and he might have pushed this a little too much a little too soon. For crying out loud, they had only just started talking again yesterday and that had mostly consisted of Ichigo doing a monologue. In reality he had absolutely no idea if Ishida actually liked him or just tolerated him. 

This had been a mistake. Right then and there when he had realized that he might want to do some slightly inappropriate things with Ishida, he should have paused and thought of a plan of action. But he never did that. This was the punishment, he thought, cold pizzas and rejection.

And now he stood in front of Ishida’s door, feeling stupid and utterly humiliated with two lukewarm pizzas and a bottle of ice tea that had been intended for sharing with someone. 

Ichigo sighed. Had anyone heard the sigh they would have thought it a sigh of a defeated man, a man of many years and of many troubles. He hung his head and admitted defeat. It was tough to swallow around, giving up was not really in his usual repertoire, but he knew pushing it now would only result in further injury.

He turned around, preparing the long walk down the many stairs, allowing himself to feel horribly, a luxury he seldom indulged in.

“Where were you planning to eat?” 

Ichigo whipped around to find Ishida standing in the open door wearing a light jacket over his t-shirt.

“Ryuuken is working in his office and while you may no longer be a Soul Reaper I’m not sure what he would think of you being here.”

Ichigo was struck dumb for a brief moment, his thoughts whirling in his head, being far more turbulent than usual. “You wanna come?”

“I thought you wanted me too?” Ishida regarded him for a second.

It was not with much grace Ichigo answered, “I do. I most definitely do.”

Ishida shook his head, seemingly trying to hide a little smile and closed the door.

“Where to?”

Ichigo had been at a loss as to where this rendezvous should take place, but they walked through the dimly lit streets of Karakura, talking selectively about subjects unlikely to spur conflict, deciding on a bench in a greener area of town. It was not that the conversation was awkward, the matter was simply something they did not usually get to talk about. 

They talked about baseball and whether or not the Chunichi Dragons was going to smother the Yakult Swallows next match, something Ichigo found highly unlikely, but Ishida was utterly convinced of.

They talked about Don Kanonji’s new TV series and how strange it had been seeing it and being on TV. Ishida told Ichigo he had been there that night, Ichigo asked why he had not helped. He had simply shrugged and said he enjoyed the show too much.

They talked about the beginning of next semester a week from then and how Ishida was going to have a lot of work to be doing with both the student council and the Hollow-hunting. Ichigo remarked Chad and Inoue would help him out if he asked, to which Ishida said, he knew. 

A lamppost was placed straight to the left of the bench, giving the dinner an almost theatrical feel. They talked more than they ate, much to Ichigo’s surprise. Inoue had not been wrong when she said that the way Ishida talked did not at all reflect how he was.

Ishida spoke at length about the book he was reading and why he did not particularly like the protagonist and the subplot of one of the supporting characters. Ichigo could not help wanting to read the book the more Ishida talked about it. And when Ishida took a slice of pizza, not bothered what was on it or not, Ichigo talked about his family. How his dad had changed and how his sisters were catching on to the Kurosaki family secret.

Ishida laughed at some of his jokes and Ichigo in turn smiled when Ishida made a sharp, yet witty remark. 

“It’s not that I dislike Asano, it’s just that I don’t understand why he has to shout all the time.”

“That’s one of the things I like about him, that he doesn’t care about what other people think of him and that he’s so passionate about almost anything he talks about. Albeit some of the things he talks about are absolutely ridiculous, I’ll give you that.” Ichigo defended Keigo and smiled when Ishida shook his head and took another bite off his now seventh slice of pizza. Ichigo was only on his fourth.

“I can’t believe you’re this skinny when you eat this much,” Ichigo commented when Ishida picked up his eighth piece and finished off the vegetarian pizza. He simply shrugged and took another bite.

“I never seem to get fatter. It’s a curse.”

“Put there by whom?” Ichigo asked, indulging Ishida and eating the rest of the crust and taking a sip of ice tea. Ishida took it from his hands, drank a little and shook his head while he screwed the cap back on.

“Born with it.”

“Should I play a little violin?” Ichigo asked in mock sadness and started gliding the invisible bow over the imaginary strings. Ishida gave him a deadpan look and stuck out his tongue a little, taking another bite of pizza.

“Yeah, ha, ha. Laugh all you want.”

Ichigo smiled and stopped the silent symphony. Ishida kept eating his slice with so much dignity Ichigo had never thought he would see in someone eating fast food. He looked unearthly in the stark light from the mercury streetlight and it gave him a strange glow. Ishida looked to him for a second, wiping his hands in his jeans, stopping and then started frowning. “What?”

“Nothing. Nothing at all.” Ichigo tried, taking a bite of his own pizza and looking away from Ishida. Silence fell upon them and none of them disturbed it. Ishida took another piece. Ichigo mirrored him.

He could not help feeling there was an elephant in the room that neither of them wanted to touch upon. He had no idea what color the issue was for Ishida. His own was rather obvious.

“Can I ask you a question, Kurosaki?”

Ichigo looked back to the other who had now changed position, sitting cross-legged on the bench, his entire body facing Ichigo. He swallowed and nodded. Ishida looked to the same place where Ichigo had been looking moments before and narrowed his eyes in something Ichigo would describe as melancholic curiosity.

“Do you miss her? Kuchiki-san, I mean.”

Ichigo’s head fell and his shoulders sagged. He felt that familiar weight returning to his chest, though it had been kept at bay most of the evening.

“Sorry. I shouldn’t have asked. It’s none of my business.” Ishida withdrew and took another bite of his pizza, almost as to silence himself and give himself an excuse for not talking. Ichigo swallowed.

“Why do you ask?”

He turned his head quickly, once again looking so incredibly fragile and deer-like. But in a matter of seconds he regained his composure and his eyes calmed down. Sometimes it seemed like everything Ishida was could be seen in his eyes.

“Considering how close you two were, are, I’m not sure what tense to be using, you have spoken very little about her. Not at all actually. I thought she would be the main topic when you started talking to me, but you never brought her up. I just assumed . . . I don’t really know what I assumed, but-”

“I miss her so much it feels like saying her name will crush my tongue,” Ichigo replied quietly.

Ishida’s shoulders fell imperceptibly but he kept the calm in his eyes. Ichigo averted his eyes and looked at his shoes instead. The pizza in his hand was completely cold now.

“Rukia became such a big part of my life, of me, during the past months and I honestly don’t know who I would be today without her. I miss having her around, I miss her voice, I miss just being able to fucking see her. The reason I haven’t talked about her is that I don’t feel like I’m over that point of my life yet where it won’t hurt to talk about her,” Ichigo said without much melody, much emotion. 

Ishida had not stirred. Ichigo did not move either, afraid it would break the bubble wherein he could remember Rukia but not feel as alone while he did it. The smile that slowly dawned on his lips where drenched in sadness, but it was none the less a smile that did not fade like the others had.

“I’m sorry for making this depressing. My life’s pretty glum these days,” Ichigo apologized and laughed only a little strained. Ishida remained unmoving. He looked up slowly and met Ichigo’s eye.

“It’s fine.” He shrugged and shook his head. Ichigo caught a sliver of distress but did not know what to make of it. 

“It’s not easy losing someone like that,” Ishida mused, sounding far more sure than his tone of voice would suggest. Ichigo decided not to poke at the obviously still-tender bruise.

“So you’re joining the soccerteam?” he asked, a smile Ichigo only recognized too well on his face. He did not like the thought of Ishida bearing such a void gesture, especially not when he was with Ichigo. 

“Why’re you smiling?” he countered and immediately regretted the color of his voice. Ishida flinched back and the previous etchings on his forehead grew deeper. He looked away, almost over his shoulder, like he could not get his eyes far enough away from Ichigo’s.

“You do the same.” 

Ishida met his gaze with so much spite Ichigo felt his heart bite itself and his blood claw his veins. Without much thought he almost got lost in the shadows around Ishida’s eyes, the way they accentuated the sleepless nights and the worrisome nightmares he must have had. Ichigo felt the fangs close around his stomach, felt it fall to the ground as Ishida shook his head. It did not take more than a fraction of a second for Ishida to fall back into careful indifference and lean back and take the second to last piece of pizza.

Ichigo waited. 

Ishida did not make another move on the offensive; instead he swung his legs back on the ground, he finished the pizza-slice and took another sip of ice tea.

His brow drew together while Ishida screwed the cap back on with a slight frown.

“How do you do that?” Ichigo inquired a few degrees south of accusing. Ishida did not meet his eyes.

“Do what?” the tiredness had once again returned to his voice and Ichigo only felt the dispassion as another punch to his already bruised ribcage.

“Completely brush people off like that. How can you be so unfeeling?”

Ishida sighed and shook his head, standing up and putting the bottle back down on the bench.

“I don’t have to explain myself to you.” 

Ichigo watched as Ishida took the pizza-boxes and folded them up with slim fingers, marked by strife and turmoil. He threw out them out in the trashcan to their right. His fingers lingered on the edge on the edge of the metal like he needed the cool to keep him anchored.

“There it is again,” Ichigo pointed out, elaborated. “Do you even have feelings?”

Ishida turned slowly and looked through Ichigo with eyes completely devoid of any life. Ichigo could practically feel the adrenaline rush coursing through his body, all the way to his fingertips. His heart hammered, galloped like ten thousands wildebeests. This feeling was usually the prelude about to Zangetsu being unsheathed. But Ishida remained stoic and detached.

“I suppose I don’t,” he finally agreed. But he did not move. He kept standing right in front of Ichigo without the slightest trace of penance. And the lack thereof created a whiplash that almost made Ichigo physically clench his teeth and narrow his eyes in response.

Ichigo swallowed and looked away, “You do. Even though you never show them and that’s so incredibly frustrating.”

Because Ichigo had no idea of what to make of Ishida when he closed himself off and covered his eyes in a veil of apathy. 

Ishida sat back down and leant back, “Have you ever bothered to wonder why?”

And this time, when Ichigo looked to Ishida he almost shone. The starlight in his eyes was completely unmasked, completely open and sincere. His mouth was unmoving, but relaxed, not dragged down in disagreement or skepticism. The forehead was smooth and his eyebrows were fractions further from each other than Ichigo remember seeing them before. 

He looked positively divine. Ishida blinked once and then looked down. 

“No. I suppose I haven’t,” Ichigo almost whispered, his reverie quieting his own voice as not to disturb the still waters in front of him. Ishida ran a hand through his hair and took a deep breath.

“Then you don’t really have the right to judge, do you?”

Ichigo withdrew and swallowed. His face was probably seared with apologies and troubled creases.

Ishida did not move opposite him until he quickly, almost impossibly fast, leant forward and pressed a kiss to Ichigo’s cheek.

Ichigo felt his face soften and he looked up only find Ishida had already gone. With a slow hand he touched his cheek where Ishida had been only a few seconds ago. Warmth had spread through his bones, had caressed his skin and thawed at a lump of ice that apparently had settled in his stomach.

With tentative movements he stood and licked his lips. 

“Huh,” he said to no one and to everyone.

He did not think to stop touching his cheek.

 

When they started school three days later, Ichigo had not spoken to Ishida again. Not even once. He had tried calling him, tried knocking on his door, catching him in public and he even sent a letter. Ishida, however, had not thought he deserved an A for effort and was still incognito.

So when they started school, Ichigo thought he, at the very least, needed a few civil words with Ishida about the fateful datenight. That had not been a date or anything remotely like it. At all.

But what more, was that Ishida seemed to agree with him. Ichigo had tried forgetting about the fact that Ishida’s lips had, if only for a moment, been on his cheek, but had only achieved to etch the weight, the touch, the shiver and the ghost into his mind. Somewhere along the way between that day and now, Ichigo had realized exactly how hard he was crushing in regards to Ishida.

And Ishida himself, seemed to have chosen to ignore this and everything that had to do with Ichigo.

The first day back had been as expected. Between lectures on pulling themselves together, warnings about upcoming tests that would determine their future and general college application doctrines, friends greeting each other as if they had been in battle, and Ichigo knew how that looked, chatter and small talk about their vacation and cheers for the new soccer-team, his mind had been swarming when he left the premises.

Second day had truly been where the severity of the situation hit Ichigo. He had tried talking to Ishida about the passing days and asking simple questions, but had been met with a blank, almost hopeless stare and then a shoulder.

And when Ishida pulled his shoulder closer, the air in Ichigo’s lungs went with it. 

The remainder of the afternoon was stuffy, heavy and scented with grayness. 

He tried again the next day.

And the next.

And then he stopped trying altogether. 

Ishida was a statue in his manner, his pose and his face. With composition like David, he would turn away and disappear into the book in his hands, merging with the black scrawls on the white.

The sun continued to lather Karakura in warmth and sometimes the rays would stretch inside and drag its nails across Ichigo’s skin. The dust would twirl and glitter in the lazy hours after lunch and Ichigo would pay greater attention to that than what the lecture was about. And while he let his mind wander, it usually went to Ishida and what had occurred to let the current air between them grow so cold.

So Ichigo began his former tactics, those who had gotten Ishida to talk to him in the first place. He would walk the other home from school, every day, never missing him. Ishida did not appear to try and dodge him though, but he never spoke to Ichigo either.

There was something oddly tranquil about walking next to Ishida, just listening to the rhythm of their steps, the beat of the minutes passing them and the quiet undertones of awkwardness. 

Somehow, they ignored the growing tension, the strangeness of the situation by ignoring each other. Ichigo did not initiate any conversation and Ishida did not make any attempts to inquire about Ichigo’s life and being.

Those 20 minutes it took Ishida to walk home, through the park, down a road that ran parallel with the main street, climb the staircase to the higher part of town, those minutes were the ones Ichigo came to loathe and love the most. 

They were the only semblance of relationship he had with Ishida now and they were a constant in his everyday life. However, the feeling of being lost, even though the path never changed and the itching in his fingers to say something was sometimes so overwhelming that he had to fight himself tooth and nail as to not destroy the mask of serenity.

His dad even began noticing the strange mood his son was in when he came back from school. He found himself looking at the stairs after Ichigo had gone to his room and wondered quietly to himself, why Ichigo was acting so strange. He made a point of not asking and not interfering. 

Ichigo had yet to ask him about the ordeal with the Soul Reapers and Isshin had a miniscule inkling that maybe Ichigo was not going to. He tried acting like he had before, overbearing, ignorant and selectively silly, but the underscore of futility was constant. Ichigo knew. There seemed to be no point in keeping up the act. So instead, Isshin decided to knock on his door one day, trying a new parental strategy.

“Come in,” Ichigo answered the door in a misplaced voice, far away. Isshin entered the room where the curtain had been drawn and the closet opened. Ichigo sat at his desk, working through a history assignment about the rise of Capitalism in the Western world and how that influenced Japan today. 

“Ichigo?” Isshin watched him. The slant of Ichigo’s shoulders was steep and his back curved and slumped. Isshin sat down on the bed, watching his oldest and only son while he wrote another sentence in his notebook.

“Did you want anything?” he asked, breaking the quiet and the calm. Isshin shook his head and smiled a half smile.

“Just glad that you’re here.”

It seemed perverted to say that Ichigo won, because nothing about his son jubilated in victory. Ichigo was not broken, no, he was not regretting his sacrifice, never, Isshin had not raised him to live on regrets and hesitation. But the subtle changes in him, the roundness of his face, the innocence of his smile, the sheen in his eyes had changed during the Winter War. Isshin had noticed them the minute they started happening. The minute Ichigo had impaled himself on Rukia’s Soul Slayer that was when he knew Ichigo would not remain unscarred.

Ichigo turned to him and looked him straight in the eye, a wan smile that still reached his eyes playing at his mouth. “Thanks, Dad,” he said, a solemn quality to his words. 

Isshin smiled and patted his shoulder, leaving the room and Ichigo with his own thoughts.

Next day, Ichigo followed Ishida home as had become the custom during the past two weeks. 

Ichigo would walk in stride and Ishida in pace, they would fit together like clockwork, but they would not show time because they did not have the hands for that. They would keep them safe, in pockets, clutching straps or fingering a collar. Never would they be near each other, because while they might fit, they did not run. They walked, the same distance every day, never making it farther than the day before. And that was their shortcoming.

The downside to all this walking was that neither spoke. Ichigo sometimes felt like his tongue was chained to the roof of his mouth, other times that his mind was empty. He would always walk with Ishida, wondering what he should say or how he should phrase it. 

Actually, during the past week and a half he had come to the conclusion that what he wanted to say to Ishida was as plain as: “Do you wanna go on a date?”

And this was where all the issues began. 

Because what if Ishida considered their pizza-eating a date, then Ichigo might upset him for not thinking the same and if he said it, chances were also that Ishida did not think the same and would be weirded out even more than now. Not at all compared to the fact that Ishida may or may not have chosen to selectively forget that little gesture of affection that Ichigo would light his candle with at night, and just find the entire question strange. Maybe he should simply just ask if he wanted to go back to the coffee shop and hang out or have a nice stroll in the park.

But that was pretty much lying, because to Ichigo those moments would mean so infinitely more to him than to Ishida and so the question of a date was as much of a statement as a prayer.

He sighed and next to him Ishida turned his head and watched him.

For someone who thought the best on his feet and followed his instinct, this juggling of words was close to a nightmare. However, experience had proven that brash and blunt behavior was not the way when dealing with this kind of problem. Rushing Ishida was like rushing a glacier, if anything it only seemed colder and more isolated than before.

Ichigo turned his head as well, finding Ishida looking at him, both quickly turning away upon discovery. 

If the slight color that started swirling on Ishida’s cheek and the clenched hand around Ichigo’s bag were any indication, they both had felt the slight jolt of electricity that went down their spines.

Ichigo shook his head and huffed. This was becoming more of a problem than getting it over with.

He would ask him tomorrow.

He could not rush it. This was not like fighting Kenpachi or Ulqiorra or Aizen.

He could not very well cut Ishida down with a sword.

Again.

 

“Ishida?” he asked when they left school the next day. This had been two weeks under way and now when this moment of moments had come, he felt his heart restlessly jittering, his palms turn sweaty and his adrenalin rush.

The entire day had for Ichigo been a prelude for the walk home. He had been on edge during Math, while they ate lunch and with every tick of the clock. The day had been gray, but warm; promising thunder and maybe rain later on. 

When the bell had rung, Ichigo’s skin had possibly been crawling watching Ishida pack his things. He tried to match his speed while entertaining Keigo and Mizuiro about going to the movies Saturday. 

He licked his lips and said his goodbyes half a minute after Ishida had left the classroom with a wave to Inoue. He hurried after him and caught up in the middle of the hallway, almost bumping his shoulder. Ishida did not even pretend that he did not know Ichigo was there, it seemed like they were too old for that sort of game.

They were walking past a mini-mart, the white lights and advertisements calling their attention to them. A group of students exited the store and crossed the streets. Ishida watched them with a blank expression, a mask he was good at crafting and wearing.

“Yes, Kurosaki?” he answered. They entered the little shop, the doors gliding aside for them. 

Colorful and flavorful drinks were leaning against each other, waiting to be bought, Ramen and springrolls were ready to be microwaved to the customer’s need and satisfaction, and the store-clerk was standing in front of rows and rows of cigarettes picking at her nails. Soft music was playing over the speakers and a few other people were walking around, picking up granola bars and magazines as they went.

Ishida picked up a strawberry milk and watched it without much interest.

“Do you–You like strawberry milk?” He interrupted himself, watching Ishida find one that was not as bruised as the other. Absentmindedly, Ichigo picked up an ice tea with mint and swung it around lazily.

“Why wouldn’t I like strawberry?” he inquired, bringing the chosen box closer from the depths of the cooler and turned it over, skimming the fine print on the back.

“I don’t know, just didn’t seem the type, I guess.”

Ishida simply shrugged and went to the cashier and put the strawberry milk down. Ichigo put his ice tea next to it and while Ishida was looking through his bag for his wallet, fished two 1000 Yen notes out of his back pocket and paid for both. Ishida gave him a quick look of protest, but conceded since the transaction had already taken place.

“You didn’t have to do that,” he said, after they had exited the shop. Ichigo unscrewed the cap and took a sip.

“Do you wanna get something to eat? There’s a new ramen stall down Shinzu and I heard from Keigo it should be pretty decent,” he countered instead, “this time you can pay yourself.”

Ishida considered him a moment, “On what occasion?”

He looked nothing short of suspicious like Ichigo was standing in front of his door all over again, waving pizza and bottled ice tea, calling to a closed home.

Ichigo took a sip, letting himself forget the prickle that went down his spine as he spoke, trying to sound as casual as possible.

“As a date.”

Ishida stood for a moment, not frozen, not stricken, very much alive and every bit as collected as always. He took a sip from his strawberry milk and licked his lips. Ichigo felt the gooseflesh skimming over his arms and shoulders, trying not to let the silence get to him.

“Are you joking with me right now?” Ishida looked at him, took another sip and looked away.

“No. Why would I be joking?” Ichigo lifted an eyebrow at that response.

“Because you wouldn’t want to go on a date with me,” Ishida stated. 

“Why would I ask you if I didn’t?”

“I don’t know!” Ishida reigned himself back in and closed off as a woman passed between them, either ignoring the tension or being too caught up in her own world to notice.

“I don’t know,” he repeated. Ichigo looked the other over and then swallowed.

“Is that a no?” he asked quietly, looking down. He had all but gone deaf to the world around them, feeling him and Ishida alone in a glass-cage. Even his heart had slowed down so much so Ichigo was wondering if it was beating at all.

“Of course not, I just don’t get the point,” Ishida answered the same way Ichigo had spoken, so quiet as if he was afraid the resonance of his words would have the world cave in on itself.

“What do you mean ‘point’?” Ichigo looked up now, quickly, feeling the world halt completely.

“We barely get along as friends, why would we need an extra emotional layer to complicate things? We couldn’t even eat a fucking pizza without fighting and offending each other, how could we possibly be in a healthy relationship like that?” Ishida spoke with a voice on the verge of scaling and peeling, something uncertain had laced itself with his usual confident tones and that irked Ichigo more than it should. It sounded like a thought he finally got to voice.

“I’m not saying it’ll be a walk in the park or anything, but this isn’t a marriage proposal either, so I don’t see why we need to worry all that much. If it works out, it works out; if it doesn’t, we break up. Or don’t go on another date and simply forget it ever happened. Ishida, I’m just asking if you wanna give it a try.”

Ishida took another sip of his milk and licked his lips again. He stood calmly for a while. Ichigo let him think. Unlike himself, Ishida actually thought his words over before he spoke. It was strangely comforting that he would not get an answer that he simply flung out without consideration.

“Okay. If it works, it works, if not, we go back to … this,” he gestured between the two of them, which would end up with an awful lot of sexual tension on Ichigo’s part.

“Really?” Ichigo had not really realized what Ishida had said, being too focused on the hands that moved between them as he did. Ishida really could be quite distracting.

Ishida smiled a little, almost secret smile and finished his strawberry milk. Ichigo stuck his ice tea into his bag. “Alright, should we go?”

Ishida nodded and threw the empty box out, hitting the bin perfectly in the middle. Ichigo applauded him and earned a shake of the head. “You’ve seen me do better,”

“Not without your bow. I mean, I know your aim is fair and true, but I thought your depth perception might be a little off.”

“In regards to what?” Ishida looked mildly humored by Ichigo’s suggestion and kept in stride with him.

“You wear glasses, so I thought maybe the hand-eye-depth thing wouldn’t be as sharp as I don’t know, mine.”

“Yours?” Ishida was practically laughing at him, without any actual laughter involved.

“I’m on the soccerteam, I’ll have you know.”

Ishida shook his head and smiled crookedly.

 

Ichigo had gone home after their not quite first date with butterflies tumbling in his stomach. His fingers did not feel real and his he could not help the half-smile that kept creeping up on his lips. 

He ran into Isshin on his way to his room, one going up the stairs, the other going down. Isshin stopped his son in his step and held him in place for a minute.

“Did you solve your problem with …?” he asked, letting the sentence run from him and Ichigo just nodded, trying not to rat himself out too much. So he answered without saying anything and moved past his father.

In his room he sat down on his bed, his hands in his lap and smiled stupidly down at them.

So, they had gone to the new Ramen stall, ordered and sat down. While they had waited for their food, Ishida had made a snide comment about the woman in the booth next to them, looking innocently down the menu while he had done it, making Ichigo spit his smuggled ice tea all over his menu.

The waitress had looked sourly at him while she had mopped up the mess and Ishida had just watched with a slightly shaking head.

“Why did you do that?” he had asked afterwards, Ichigo wiping his mouth and putting the bottle back in his bag.

“You surprised me,” Ichigo had watched as Ishida had pressed a frown into his forehead and had taken a sip of the water the waitress had brought over after she had finished cleaning up his mess.

“Why?”

“’Don’t eat the entire kitchen, they’ve only just opened’. Ishida, if Keigo had been here, he would’ve fallen off his chair laughing.”

Ishida had looked completely unrepentant and had only taken another sip of his water, “I’m entitled to my opinions.”

“By all means, Ishida. I just need to get used to that level of bone-dry commentary.”

Their bowls had arrived, steaming and white. The broth had been clear and still simmering, the shrimp in Ishida’s almost still alive and Ichigo’s eggs the perfect yellow. They had split their chopsticks and Ichigo had dug in heartily, eating fast and burning his mouth. Ishida had carefully picked up a string of noodles and blown on them first, before eating. He had also ordered two side dishes to satisfy his hunger.

“I can’t believe I’m on a date with such a slob,” he had commented after a while. Ichigo had looked up; mouth half-full and a drop of soup hanging at the corner of his mouth.

“Whaddya mean? I’m hot.” 

In that moment the broth had trickled down his chin and Ishida’s eyebrows had risen. 

“At least you have your looks,” Ishida had picked a shrimp with the same delicacy as if he was performing brain surgery, his manners every bit as polished as his aim.

“I’m more than just a pretty face, y’know.” Ichigo had gotten another tangle of noodles between his chopsticks, swirling them around, lathering them in the golden yolk of the egg.

“You don’t say?” 

It was odd how the same elephant that had been in every room they had ever entered together had stopped tipping over porcelain and egos; it was absolutely strange but also exhilarating to keep conversation with Ishida that did not need to involve the usual seriousness.

“I have many assets. Have I told you I once saved the world? And the one beyond? Several times?”

“I must say, that sounds dubious to my ears.” Ishida had smirked and leant his head on his hand, the tip of his chopsticks drinking the soup in his bowl. 

“It’s true. I’m a great warrior. I’ve battled many a foe, I tell ya, gotten many a wound.”

“I don’t see any scars.”

“They’re on my soul,” Ichigo had replied, clenching his hand to his heart. Ishida had broken character then and laughed. Ichigo had joined him and reveled in the fact he had done that. Ishida’s laugh was quite intoxicating.

“That’s the worst cliché I’ve ever heard.”

Ichigo had shrugged, “It’s funny, ‘cause it’s true.”

“It’s sad because it’s true.”

“What about you then? Why should I stick this date out? You don’t seem like that much to me,” Ichigo had challenged and watched Ishida put down his chopsticks neatly and places both hand on the table.

“Well, I don’t know what you’ve heard, but brain is the new black. Brawn is so last season.” Ishida had picked up his chopsticks again and started twirling them both in his left hand. It was a party-trick Ichigo only thought he would see online.

“Besides being brilliantly smart, I too have saved the lives of some. Not the entire world, that’s overdoing it a little, I think. Don’t want to come on too strong, you know?” Ishida ate another mouthful of shrimp.

“Go big or go home.”

Ishida had bowed his head smiling, but lifted his head again quickly. “Kurosaki, that was actually witty.”

“I’m not sure if I should be flattered or offended by your surprise,” Ichigo had said, eating another yolk-covered mouthful. Some yellow had stuck to the corners of his mouth and he licked it away.

Ishida’s smile had vanished he shook his head, looked to the table. “I’m sorry, I feel like ruined it.”

Ichigo had looked at him for a long while and then put down his chopsticks. Ishida had sat awkwardly, staring into his bowl.

“Is everything to your tastes, sir?” a waitress different from the one who had wiped the table for them had asked. 

“Yeah, everything’s great. Could I have some more noodles, maybe?” Ichigo had tried and turned back to Ishida who had nodded to the waitress in recognition of her question. She had left with a small bow.

“Ishida, I’m used to you criticizing me, it’s not a big deal.” Ichigo had leant in a little closer, leaning on his elbows and looking straight at Ishida.

“I sometimes forget to stop myself. I’ll do better, I’m sorry.” Ishida had looked up shortly, but continued to fidget with his hands. He had continued in that fashion until the waitress had brought Ichigo his noodles and left again, smiling as she went. “Thank you,” Ichigo had called after her.

“You don’t have to apologize for anything, Ishida. I don’t mind.”

“It’s not exactly very nice to have a relationship based on insults, Kurosaki,” Ishida had bitten and clenched his teeth. Ichigo had taken a deep breath and retracted a bit.

“I don’t think you can say our entire relationship is built on insults. I agree, we need to find another way of talking to each other or just setting up a system where we know when it’s real and when it isn’t. I told you, I’m willing to try and I think it would only be fair if we put some effort into it.”

“We’ve not even made it past our first date. Unless you count the pizza, which was even more terrible.” Ishida had picked up his chopsticks again, plucking out another string of noodles, dripping with broth.

“Yeah, that was pretty bad,” Ichigo had agreed, smiling a little. 

“I hate it when you call me out.”

“I call your bullshit because I dislike that you do it around me. I don’t want you to feel like you have to either apologize for yourself or hide behind some weird-ass act of coolness. That’s why I do it.”

Ishida had looked out the window, slowly chewing. “Some things I just want to keep for myself.”

Ichigo had considered him and hooked some noodles with his chopsticks, carefully studying his date. Ishida had looked to him then, “How long have you wanted to do this? A date, I mean?”

Ichigo had swallowed heavily as he noticed the absolute blue in Ishida’s eyes and how it was pinning him down, interrogating him. 

“A few weeks now. Maybe a month and a half?” 

Ishida looked thoroughly perplexed, his eyebrows drawn together and one slightly lifted. “What?”

“What?” 

Ishida had laughed then and the tension had completely disappeared. Ichigo marveled at how light Ishida’s laugh was and how soothing, almost.

“What?” he had repeated.

Ishida had chuckled off and licked his lips, “I honestly thought you had less patience than that.”

“Trust me, it wasn’t a conscious decision, but figuring out what, who, when and where coupled with how to proceed and how not to was pretty time consuming. I’ve had a few failed attempts,” he had told and took a drink. 

Ishida had gone from an amused smile to a horrified expression. “Don’t tell me the pizza-thing was a date.”

Ichigo had then started laughing and threw his head back in amusement, “Would it be really bad if I said yes?”

“It was horrible!”

“To be fair, I don’t think I knew it was a date, so the blame can be split between us.”

“Well, we can hardly get any worse, can we?” Ishida had leant back and looked at him with eyes so open and so honest Ichigo could not help but smile. 

“No, I don’t think we can,”

They had parted ways after paying and stood awkwardly in front of the shop, having to go in opposite directions. Ichigo could tell Ishida was wondering how they should say farewell, almost seeing him mulling over the possibility of shaking hands. 

“So, I had a good time,” he had stated and fingered the handle of his bag. He had casually thrown it over his shoulder and resting his weight on his left leg.

“Yeah, me too,” Ishida looked down, running his fingers through his bangs. The contrast between the two was stark and strong.

“So, we could repeat the experience?” 

Ishida licked his lips and nodded, “I should think so.” 

“Sweet, I’ll pick you up Thursday,” Ichigo said, waving and walking backwards two steps before he turned. He managed to catch Ishida’s confused expression. 

“What’s happening Thursday?”

“You’ll see!”

Ishida had shaken his head and waved as well. Somehow, the simplicity of it all made Ichigo even more giddy. He had to watch himself to not break out into skipping on his way home.

Not that he had a clue about what they should do Thursday, but he had two days to figure it out.

 

Ichigo was running, breathing heavily, drops of sweat falling down his chin. He wiped his forehead, licked his lips. Ishida was sitting on the bleachers, reading a book, sitting cross-legged and a finger touching his lip.

Thursday had come like every other day, except it was not, and they both knew it. Ichigo had soccer-practice in the afternoon and Ishida’s student council duties were cut short due to illness among the staff. Instead, he had gone to the library and found a dusty copy of Moby Dick that had not seen sunshine in far too long. 

Practice had already begun for Ichigo and they were already warming up, stretching and running when Ishida sat down and cracked open the yellowed paperback. Ichigo caught sight of him almost immediately. It was odd how he did not need Spirit Pressure or other supernatural abilities to know where Ishida was at a given time.

The wind had died that morning and left Karakura to the whims of the heat. September was nearing its end and so should the reign of the sun, however, it fought valiantly to keep its hold on the panting dirt. The earth itself was almost breathing moisture from the constant humid heat.

Wednesday had passed slowly and entirely eventless for Ichigo. Ishida had taken out a Hollow during lunch and had managed to be back in class in time for math.

They had not actively tried getting the other’s attention, it had just happened several times. Ichigo would be paying more attention to Ishida than to Ochi-sensei and Ishida would turn and look at him, catching his eye and twitch the corner of his mouth.

Keigo had insisted that Ichigo come to the Arcade after school with him, Mizuiro and Chad. His eyes had sought Ishida again, but had not found him. 

So they had gone to the game-hall, machine pinging and crying, flashing and blinking. The music was loud, the coins rattled and plastic-buttons were pressed eagerly. The smell of sweat and air-condition was heavy and light at the same time and the temperature inside mirrored the one outside, and no amount of fanning could change that.

Ichigo watched contently as Keigo was beaten savagely by Mizuiro in Guitar Hero and how Keigo got revenge in Mortal Kombat. Chad stood back with him and observed as the two bickered and how they discussed the validity of their respective victory.

They left an hour later and Keigo had, surprisingly, been the one who gave Ichigo the time and place for his next meeting with Ishida. Or date. 

Ichigo threw himself after the ball, casting a sideways glance, the feeling of being watched etched into his nape, and he felt himself run a little faster. 

When practice was over and he had showered, he joined Ishida on the bleachers, still reading in the fading summer-sun. He read the last page at a leisurely pace, and then carefully shut the book, pressing the corner down and folded his hands on top of it. Ichigo smiled crookedly.

“Ready?” he asked, when Ishida looked to him. He nodded and put the book in his bag. 

They walked casually from the school, Ishida softly inquiring about Ichigo’s day and practice and Ichigo in turn asking about the book Ishida was reading. 

“That’s the one with the whale, right?” Ichigo looked to Ishida, seeing the other turn to him, looking almost offended.

“How can you not know Moby Dick?” 

Ichigo chuckled and shook his head lightly, “I’m not that into fishing,”

“Don’t you dare make terrible jokes,” Ishida commanded, lifting a finger. “You don’t know Moby Dick? Captain Ahab? Kurosaki, am I going on a date with a dunce?”

Ichigo softened his expression and saw Ishida’s do the same and say, “Don’t let it get to your head.”

“What?” Ichigo hitched his bag further up, turning around the corner, Ishida sharp on his trail.

Ishida lifted an eyebrow, “Shut up.”

Ichigo smiled, but obliged. He could see Ishida ignoring the smug-look on his face and he intended to keep it there until Ishida did not. 

They stopped in front of the cinema and Ishida slowly turned to him, arms crossed, “Did you run out of imagination, Kurosaki?”

“Come on, two hours ignoring each other in a dark room while seeing a movie that was highly recommended can only be fail-safe,” he retorted, Ishida turning back to the entrance.

“Alright, but it had better be a good movie if I’m consigned to sit next to you uninterrupted for two hours.”

“Keigo said it was possibly the best movie he’d ever seen in his life and before you say anything, Mizuiro backed him up,”

“That pacifies all doubts immediately,” Ishida stated dryly.

They went inside, Ichigo bought the tickets and Ishida bought the snacks. They found their seats in the dense-aired and gapingly empty movie theater. Ishida looked over the almost ghostly interior and snorted quietly, “Quite the blockbuster.”

“Shut up, Ishida, the movie hasn’t even started and you already hate it. You’re really good at making up your mind in advance, y’know,” Ichigo said and sat down in the back row, making himself comfortable, stashing his bag in one of the empty seats.

“That’s not true,” he replied and mimicked Ichigo, but putting his bag underneath his seat and distributing snacks.

“Oh yeah? You hated me before you’d even had a real conversation with me.”

“I didn’t need to; you were insanely obnoxious from a distance.”

“How about up close then?” Ichigo inquired and gestured between them, emphasizing their current predicament.

“Even worse,” Ishida deadpanned and turned towards him. 

Other people had begun coming in while the commercials had started playing. The quiet shuffle of footsteps was completely drowned by the loud bouncy animal on screen that tried selling a new juice-product. 

Ichigo watched Ishida as the reflections from the silver screen danced over his face and illuminated both eyes and cheeks. He was clad halfway in light, halfway in shadows and it looked nothing short of celestial to Ichigo and he considered telling Ishida so.

“But you have this amazing cinematic achievement to convince me otherwise,” Ishida followed up and leant back, watching the screen, taking a handful of popcorn into his hand. Ichigo kept watching Ishida for another commercial, but then turned away and did the same.

When the trailers began, his dared himself to reach out for Ishida’s hand. 

It was a lot smoother, yet ragged than he thought it would have been. The thin scars had faded over time, but they could still be felt on his porcelain skin, like the melted gold used to mend broken china. The fingertips were slightly chilled and the palm was dry. 

Ichigo couldn’t focus on anything but the feel of Ishida’s hand in his for the first two minutes of having taken it. Ishida himself bit his bottom lip, then leaned closer to Ichigo, not letting go of his hand.

When the movie began, Ishida started making snide comments at almost every turn and Ichigo found that he did not mind at all. Ishida was witty, sharp and ruthless in his observations and they were so quiet Ichigo only heard them if he strained himself.

“Yes, walk right along with the sinister man you’ve just met, I’m sure he’s friendly,” he would say one minute, and in the next, after the girl had been brutally murdered, “What an unexpected turn.”  
Ichigo’s favorite so far had been, “It’s an iceberg! No matter what you do to ice, it’ll always float.”

Ichigo leant closer to him, still holding a hand he had yet to let go off and whispered, “It’s a Hollywood movie, Ishida, what do you expect?”

“Quality,” was the curt reply, “Why do they all go with him without question? If that would’ve been me, they would have to drug me and then imprison me. And even so, I would just have shot myself, then and there, would save me a shitload of pain. At least I could slow them down a little and I wouldn’t be disemboweled.”

“Nah, Ishida, I would’ve saved your ass.”

“You make it sound like that’s all you do.”

“Isn’t it?”

The couple in front of them turned their heads and shushed them angrily, before turning back to the screen. They gave each other a brief look, lowered their voices and continued.

“I can think of at least three occasions where I saved you and only once vice versa. You usually go for saving Inoue-san or Kuchiki-san, I just happen to be nearby and get saved on group-discount.”

“That’s not true. I got your ass in Hueco Mundo.”

“No, first Abarai-kun, then Kurotsuchi got me, then you saved Inoue-san and then I saved you.”

Ichigo looked to the screen then and caught the hero and the rather busty maiden’s romantic kiss, violins and the entire brass-section fighting to make the moment as heartfelt as possible.

“I’m sorry.”

“Kurosaki, I’ve forgiven you for running your Soul Slayer through me, you should do the same.”

Ichigo’s eyes remained on screen, tip of his ears reddening, as the comedic side-kick found a quirky girl amongst the saved sacrificial virgins and the eyes they made at each other, indicating with American subtlety that these two might just be a match made in Heaven.

“It’s easier said than done,” he finally said. Ishida turned to the screen again, the evil overlord rising from the ground, heading straight for the hero’s undying love-interest.

“Give it a try, you might like not being angsty and guilty all the time.”

“What, like you?” he asked as the maiden threw herself in front of the hero and took the sword to her heart instead of her love. The violin-section hurried in to support the tears falling from the hero’s face and the slow-motion fight the sidekick had with the villain, only to be cut down as well.

“I’m prejudiced and arrogant, those are two very different things,” he admonished as the hero stood up and fought the villain, fighting for the lives of those around him. 

Ichigo chuckled rather loudly at that and the couple from before turned around again, giving them scathing eyes.

“But seriously, that’s not how you use a bow,” Ishida suddenly remarked as the hero had picked up a bow and fired several arrows perfectly aimed at the villains helmet.

“And that’s definitely not how you use a sword,” Ichigo agreed as the villain swung his over-decorated sword wildly, flailing, Ichigo would call it.

“And that’s not how it is when you’re stabbed by one,” Ishida finished as a close-up of the maiden came into view. Ichigo laughed once and looked to Ishida who again was eating popcorn.

They had not let go of each other’s hands, not even when the movie ended and the credits began rolling.

“That was terrible!” Ishida said the minute the lights were on. Ichigo could only agree with him. 

“I don’t get it, Keigo said it was amazing,” he mumbled and stayed in his seat. Ishida cracked his back and watched the people exiting the cinema. Ichigo found his cellphone from his pocket and flipped through his contacts until he found the perpetrator. Ishida turned to him with a frown. “Who’re you calling?”

Ichigo stood up and reluctantly let go of Ishida’s hand, but had to use it to pick up his bag. Ishida collected their trash and slung his own over his shoulder.

On the third ring, Keigo picked up. “You asshole!” Ichigo greeted him, “Either we revoke our friendship based on stupidity or because you lied to me. Keigo, that was the worst piece of shit I’ve ever seen my entire life!”

Keigo started laughing. It was loud enough that Ishida turned and looked puzzled at him, while he threw out the empty cups and popcorn bag. 

“Oh my God, you actually went and saw it?!” Keigo shouted in his ear, practically falling off his chair. Ichigo could imagine him sitting at his desk, Mizuiro on his bed reading a comic, curiously looking to see why Keigo was choking himself with laughter.

“Yeah, ha ha, Keigo. You owe me 6000 Yen, asshole!”

Keigo disconnected, probably because he accidentally had pressed the hang up button while laughing.

“I take it he knew,” Ishida remarked next to him and hitched his bag higher up.

“Keigo’s a dirtbag and I’ll kick his ass tomorrow,” Ichigo grumbled. He blamed it entirely on Keigo if his relationship with Ishida fell apart. He had had a nagging fear since they entered the cinema that Ishida would hate every single moment of it, because honestly, Ichigo had no idea what kind of films Ishida liked or disliked, much less if he even liked films.

Ishida ran a hand through his hair, “Next time, I choose the film.”

Ichigo snapped his head towards him and stared. “What?”

“Your taste obviously can’t be trusted, so next time I’ll choose.”

He smiled and started walking, “Wanna grab something to eat?”

Ishida nodded and followed him, catching up and keeping pace. They walked closely, not touching but not intending not to. Ichigo had been wondering since Tuesday how appropriate touching Ishida would be. 

It was an unstable truce they had built, and somehow, going on dates was not the same thing as dating. They talked easier, he felt. He didn’t have to constantly walk on his toes and glass-shards to avoid conflict, actually it seemed like Ishida welcomed his brashness, taking it cooly, but softly.

Ichigo was surprised with how well they handled talking about sensitive subjects. When Ishida had mentioned Rukia, he had not bristled as much as he thought he would have; and when Ishida had joked with being stabbed, he had not felt the same sort of uncomfortable heat as he usually did thinking about it.

“Where’re we going?” Ishida asked.

“How about pizza, that went well last time,”

They both laughed, short and quiet, but a laugh none the less. Ishida kept the shadow of a smile on his mouth and Ichigo smirked likewise. 

“Sounds like a plan.”

Ichigo nodded then and took the shortest route he knew to the cheap, but decent pizza-place on the corner of block 29. Ishida simply followed and kept his peace when they entered a rather dingy looking restaurant. He did not scrunch up his nose as Ichigo halfway expected him to. Instead, Ishida remained where he was, reading the menu. Ichigo stayed out front and waited for the man behind the counter to acknowledge him.

Ishida ordered a minced meat and eggplant, Ichigo an all-meat. They bought one bottle of ice tea, intending to share. They left after paying and went to the park.

They sat down on the hill overlooking Karakura, the sun had set and the stars had come out to play, enjoyed the still-warm night that enveloped them and kept them safe from the encompassing void above them.

They ate their pizza, talking about everything and nothing at all. When Ichigo thought back, he would not be able to remember their conversation, but remembered how genuinely relaxed and happy he had been. Sure, they had bickered still, but somehow, it had lost most of its venom. The bite had come off when they had decided to give this romantic relationship a chance. Like the tension between them had had its roots in their emotional issues with each other.

Ichigo’s phone rang once. 

He ignored it and shoved it further down his backpack. Ishida watched amused as Ichigo fought a seemingly losing battle with his own apparel and offered nothing but unhelpful comments.

They had laid back afterwards, looking at the stars above. Ichigo had dared looking for Ishida’s hand, bumped into his with a lack of grace seldom seen. Ishida did not seem to mind much as he cautiously slotted his own hand in Ichigo’s, taking a gentle but firm hold of it.

“I still can’t forget you don’t know Moby Dick.”

“It’s about the dude who can’t catch the white whale, right?”

“Crudely put, yeah.”

“Then I know Moby Dick, problem solved.”

Ishida snorted, “That’s an exaggeration if I ever heard one.”

“Can I ever please you?”

Ichigo turned his head minutely, only enough to catch Ishida’s unguarded smile and slight blush as he said, “We’ll have to see about that, won’t we?”

He looked out the corner of his eyes to find Ichigo watching him, he did not turn away.

 

A month had passed since they had begun dating and Ichigo felt himself relax a lot more. It was odd how much talking to someone who was willing to listen without bias and interruptions could change your mood and your posture.

But here they were. Ishida still argued with him, still made snide comments and could still be incredibly condescending, but whenever he caught himself in it, he apologized and rephrased. When Inoue had said that Ishida would be a lot nicer if he did not talk the way he talked, he had thought she had been under false impressions, because Ishida at that time did not have the capability of change in Ichigo’s eyes.

Now he felt himself shake his head every time Ishida bit his tongue, stumbled in a sentence of knives. He would smile as well, letting Ishida know that he was not upset, that he almost had come to expect this. Ishida in turn looked rather fetching when he decided to sigh and tell him that a healthy relationship did not rest upon verbal abuse. 

“That’s just how we talk, Ishida,” he would say, looking at Ishida while he would be doing calculus.

“We could at least try to do better,” Ishida would retort and look up. And within minutes he would let another comment about Ichigo’s lacking skill in math go. They would be disarming was it not for the words used. But Ichigo had taken to listen to the tone and not the missive.

They had fought once already, and neither was under the impression it would be their last. Ichigo had sat opposite Ishida for half an hour before any of them cracked, because stubbornness was a trait they both had.

And later when they had moved their chairs together and Ishida was resting his head on Ichigo’s shoulder and he was combing his hair with his finger, they both gave the other a knowing look, whereupon they started laughing.

No, Ichigo had not thought being in a relationship with Ishida would be like this. 

They would go out and eat ramen or sushi, eat pizza in the park or go to the Arcade where Ishida simply refused to play anything and then proceeded to savagely wipe the floor with Ichigo in Mortal Kombat. 

Ichigo found out that Ishida owned the consol-version of the game and had virtually beaten every character and their grandmother thrice. He insisted they play, of course. And Ishida had smiled a little half-smile and brought the entire setup the next day, where they hooked it up after school in the empty classroom and played until their fingers started cramping and their eyes were sore.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to let me win,” Ichigo stated one of their first times.

“Okay,” had Ishida’s simple reply been. Ichigo later revised his statement, asking Ishida to refrain from using his X-ray and the grab-move. He still won, but Ichigo felt better for it, because he had not lost within the first few seconds.

“How did you become so good at this?” he inquired when Ishida had been packing up the consol, unplugging the chords and closing the bag.

“I had a lot of sparetime,” he answered. He swung the bag on his shoulder.

“Want me to walk you home?” Ichigo got up from the desk he had been leaning on, walking a few steps towards Ishida. The other nodded but was betrayed by himself as he smiled a slow smile.

Ichigo had grown to love Ishida’s smiles and his laughter, however rare it might be. There was something so open about him when he started giggling or letting his lips curl. 

The only thing Ichigo truly felt was amiss was the distance. Sometimes he would feel that he could run forever and never catch up to Ishida walking in front of him. At times, it was overwhelming how much Ishida’s silence could shatter his mood. While it was terrific having someone listen to you without distraction, observing and quiet, the quiet sometimes grew too heavy and tar-like, like he was stuck in quicksand and Ishida was only sitting there listening.

Ichigo felt like Ishida kept his distance because he did not want to seem impolite, that traditionalist stick was still stuck up his ass and Ichigo would like for it to make room for him. 

When that thought had gone through his head they had been in the middle of class, discussing contemporary literature from the 50’s and he had felt his face reddening, blood hurrying to his cheeks, tripping as it did.

Ishida had sent him a sideways glance, had had his eyes trained on him for a second. Then he had turned back to Ochi-sensei and listened – that damn listening-ability! – And left Ichigo to think about a more physical aspect of their relationship.

Not that there had been one yet. They held hands occasionally, when they were alone; Ishida would rest his head on Ichigo’s shoulder and Ichigo would in turn lie with his head in Ishida’s lap. They had not gone further into relationship-territory. Ichigo had no idea how to proceed and Ishida seemed like somewhat of a prude. Not that it bothered Ichigo, there had not been any reason for that yet.

And so, when that one thought about Ishida and his stick had crossed Ichigo’s mind, he started thinking about that whole niche still undiscovered. He would lie in bed at night, wondering what Ishida’s neck felt like, what he tasted like, how he would look after they had kissed for the first time.

He had wanted to kiss Ishida before, but now he was actively wondering how it might be.

And he started venturing even further into that abyss, wondering how gliding his hands over Ishida’s back, how his skin would feel under his mouth, what sounds he would make. And suddenly he had felt himself getting warm, getting horny and definitely getting a little more than a bit intrigued with the perspective he had only just gained.

So when they rounded a month, Ichigo invited Ishida out in the park to enjoy the final spoils of sunlight as the crimson leaves dropped from the trees, reluctantly leaving the branches. They had bought pizza, as had now become customary it had seemed, and put their jackets on the ground.

Ishida ate heartily, Ichigo would not use the word shoved, because Ishida was too graceful for that term, but he did take big bites and finished his pizza first. Ichigo threw a piece from his own onto Ishida’s pizza-box and received a rather wide smile for Ishida’s standards and a look that warmed him up from the inside.

When they had both finished, they had lain back down, watched the patches of red, yellow and purple come gliding towards them and the ground, held each other’s hands as the sun slowly slumped back into the earth. 

It was getting late, the chill starting to nip at their fingertips and the wind growing colder. They stood up, put on their jackets and threw out the trash, brushing their hands afterwards, trying to work some warmth into them. 

Ishida stood still, lips turning purplish from the cold. Neither moved, not quite wanting to leave yet. Ichigo laughed once and wrapped his arms around Ishida. He felt the other stiffen immediately, but then relax and sneak two lithe hands around him as well.

“This is nice,” Ishida stated after a while, quietly. Ichigo nodded and rested his forehead on Ishida’s. 

They stood like that for a long time, it seemed. The leaves still falling around them, the world slowly coming undone and letting it tumble down.

Ishida let go of Ichigo then, and almost instantly Ichigo was missing it. Touching Ishida was going to be a lot more addictive than he had previously thought it would. He expected Ishida to step away and turn around, but he had remained where he was. Ichigo was going to have to give up on figuring Ishida out or trying to predict him and let it be.

Ishida stood in front of him, looking him in the eye, waiting for him. When Ichigo let himself plunge into the clear depths of Ishida’s blue, the other stepped in and tilted his head slightly up.

The kiss was everything and nothing like Ichigo had thought it would be. He felt his fingers clutch Ishida’s sides, felt thousands of little beads rolling down his spine, felt the world, felt his thoughts, felt nothing at all. Most importantly, he felt the warmth.

Ishida moved his lips slightly, Ichigo matched him. They let themselves set and dance. They tried and failed, but tried and tried again. Soon it was languid. Ishida licked Ichigo’s lower lip and Ichigo nipped his. Ishida’s hands moved to Ichigo’s neck, Ichigo’s sliding down Ishida’s sides, encircling him.

The rays of the passing sun was filtering through the air, slowly making its way to the two of them, letting the orange glow finger their hair, caress their skin and hug their bodies. 

Ichigo let Ishida gently play and tug his hair, sending thrills and gooseflesh down his arms, making his ears go hot. He felt himself press his thumbs into Ishida’s back, guiding the other slightly forward, making Ishida’s hands climb a little further, made his mouth a little more insistent.

Ishida started opening his mouth more and Ichigo followed suit. It was like the air was becoming unnecessary when it meant separating for even a second. Ichigo was thoroughly convinced that he was falling, much like the leaves around them, but Ishida was with him, holding on to him, demanding he paid attention to him and Ichigo was more than happy to oblige.

They started using their tongues, at first testing, trying, gathering courage to go further. Ichigo started feeling comfortable with whatever song they were singing and slowly began coaxing Ishida with him. The other followed, gently sucked his lower lip and Ichigo made a hushed noise in the back of his throat.

Ishida placed his hands on either side of his face looked directly through to his thoughts, or at least that’s how it felt. They were both short on breath, both blushing and both wide-eyed and heavy. Ichigo closed his eyes and Ishida pressed his forehead against his, a silent good-bye. He turned and left Ichigo standing alone but not lonely. 

He stood there until stars had slotted into position and the sun had disappeared completely.


End file.
